The Glories of My Maker God

The glo­ries of my mak­er God

My joy­ful voice shall sing

And call the na­tions to ad­ore

Their for­mer and their king.

’Twas His right hand that shaped our clay

And wrought this hu­man frame;

But from His own im­me­di­ate breath

Our nob­ler spir­its came.

We bring our mor­tal pow­ers to God

And wor­ship with our tongues;

We claim some kin­dred with the skies

And join th’an­gel­ic songs.

Let gro­vel­ing beasts of ev­ery shape

And fowls of ev­ery wing

And rocks

and trees

and fires

and seas

Their va­ri­ous tri­bute bring.

Ye pla­nets

to His ho­nor shine

And wheels of na­ture roll

Praise Him in your un­wear­ied course

Around the stea­dy pole.

The bright­ness of our ma­ker’s name

The wide cre­ation fills

And His un­bound­ed gran­deur flies

Beyond the heav’n­ly hills.